Poetry
By Anvar2
My poetical thoughts.
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- 531 reads
Shells
We dance upon a plane of ice A skin across a vat of blood. How brittle is this skin of self, How thin the ice we tread; A crack - and all that was white Is red.
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World's Ending
At the gates of Rome City of Blood The Messiah sits among the lepers Wrapping and unwrapping his blood-soaked bandages "Perhaps today I will be needed," He says. "I must be ready."
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